


Endless Introductions

by CloudMonkey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A bit sad, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudMonkey/pseuds/CloudMonkey
Summary: Voldemort has a back-up plan in case someone destroys his Horcruxes. However, every time he dies, he reverts to his younger self and loses his memory.Hermione is tasked to kill him every time he finds out the truth of his existence. However, it gets harder to kill him as she grows closer to him.





	Endless Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Nier: Automata where *spoilers* a character there had to kill their partner again and again every time they found out the truth about their existence.
> 
> I’m practicing writing in past tense so if I ever have any mistakes, please tell me. English isn’t my first language so I’ll appreciate the help. Thank you.

_Their Seventh Introduction_

“Nice to meet you. I’m Tom Riddle.” He offered his hand to her. “You’re my landlady then?”

She took and gave it a weak shake. “Yes. Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself.

This was their seventh introduction.

And she was _exhausted._

How long would this take? How long before her heart got ripped to pieces again? How long until she had to kill her friend again?

The last time he had lost his memories, it only had taken him five months before he found out that he was Voldemort, that he had thought he was destined to rule.

It had taken both Harry, Hermione, and Ron to take down Voldemort because she had been too weak to say two words.

_Avada Kedavra._

Would she able to do it again when the time comes?

Because she _would_ have to do it again, there was no doubt about that.

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Hermione Granger, one of the heroes who defeated Voldemort.”

Hermione winced.

“Yeah. That.”

Did it count as defeat if Voldemort was still in front of her but had only lost his memories? Did it count if she killed him again and again?

Did it even count if she lost her friend every time?

Hermione shook her head. “It’s not your fault that you got amnesia.” That was a lie. It _was_ his fault. “But I’m here to help if you need me. We’re friends.”

That one wasn’t a lie.

She had tried to contain her growing fondness of him. However, whenever Tom wasn’t trying to rule the wizarding world with fear or trying to kill her best friend, he was actually a decent person.

“It must be weird for you that I can’t remember you,” Tom said. He was behind the counter of the bookstore, flipping through the book catalogue earlier.

Hermione sniffed, feeling her eyes get a bit teary. “It hurts a bit, yeah.”

Tom moved around the counter, approaching her to lay a hand on her shoulder in comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said.

But Hermione knew that he didn’t mean it.

This Tom Riddle didn’t know her anymore. His feelings for her had reset and he was back to the polite but cold person that he was around her.

She had killed her best friend.

She had been the one who cast the Killing Curse.

And she would have to do it again for the safety of the wizarding world, for the greater good.

_Greater good,_ Hermione bitterly thought. It had been five years since she’d been on this job. One could also call it torture, not job.

She shouldn’t care about Voldemort yet here she was, on the verge of tears in front of him.

She sniffed and covered her hand over his.

She squeezed it before sliding it off her shoulder.

A man as cold as he was shouldn’t have a hand so warm.

She remembered him coming over her flat to deliver books to her. She would welcome him into her house then, mostly to keep an eye on him but also because she had come to enjoy his company.

They would talk about various subjects ranging from the academic to simple things like their favorite tea. Most of the time, Tom would stay there until late at night and she would invite him to sleep in her flat.

There was no guest room so he would have to sleep on the couch or her bed. He would cheekily choose the bed every time.

Hermione should not have been as comfortable as she had been with a mass murderer in her bed, laying with her, cuddling her.

She missed his warmth.

A sob tore from her throat and a panicked look went over Tom’s face.

She let go of his hand to wrap her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. She gripped his robes to pull him closer to her.

For five years she had been watching this man. She knew how he took his tea, his tells when he was getting annoyed at something, his favorite subjects, the spells he had created himself, how great a cook he could be, and all the other things that people didn’t know about him.

Everyone knew him as Voldemort. She had been one of those people too, but now he was just Tom to her.

Tom Riddle, her best friend who had no memories of their time together.

_Their First Introduction_

“He won’t die, Hermione,” Harry said. “We’ve tried using the Killing Curse and even- even beheading him.” He swallowed the bile in his throat, remembering the moment when Voldemort’s severed head had stitched itself to his neck.

“Does this mean that the war will never be over?” she asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.

She was tired.

How many more did they have to lose against Voldemort? They had been fighting this war for _years_ , and for Harry, Hermione, and Ron, since eleven years old.

Would it truly be over for them?

“Kingsley said that our best bet would be to lock him up in Azkaban,” Harry said. “But-”

Hermione sighed. “Let me guess. He escaped?”

“Yes.” He clenched his fists. “The inmates kept whispering to him that he’s their Lord, that he will purge all muggle-borns and muggles. That woke him up.”

“What happened next?”

“He and his supporters broke out of Azkaban and it took days until we finally found them,” he explained. “We used the Killing Curse on him but it’s like he was merely reset. We even tried beheading him but he still lives.”

There were bags under Harry’s eyes and he even smelled a bit. Guarding Voldemort’s movements was taking a toll on him.

Hermione laid a hand over his in an attempt to comfort him. “I’ve been researching on how that’s possible,” she said. “But so far I’ve got nothing.”

Harry managed a weak smile. “You should take a break too. I can see the bags under your eyes.”

“And I see yours,” was her reply.

She would not rest until that madman was truly dead. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t slept in days, what mattered was that she needed results, information that would help them with Voldemort.

She and Harry stayed there, slumped on the couch in Grimmauld Place. Ron wouldn’t be with them today as he was one of the few trusted to guard Voldemort.

They there waited for Kingsley to drop in by the Floo with news, good or bad.

When Kingsley arrived, he had to wake Harry and Hermione up, who were leaning against each other, deep asleep.

They were almost too exhausted to function but the duo persevered. After all, what was a few sleepless nights compared to the terror that was Voldemort?

Kingsley came with bad news.

“We can’t contain Voldemort in Azkaban,” he began. “Even after we put silencing spells around his cell he still figured out the reason he was in one in the first place. We kept having to kill him so he’d lose his memory.” His attention shifted to Hermione. “Any luck on your research?”

She shook her head in response. “I don’t think I’ll find any information on just any normal book, Kingsley. I…” She hesitated. “I think I’ll need access to the Unspeakables’ research on immortality, if there are any.”

Kingsley nodded. “I’ll see if I can do something. Other Unspeakables are already trying to find out how Voldemort’s immortality works.”

He turned to Harry then and explained that they couldn’t contain Voldemort in any cell, no matter how well guarded and warded. He was too suspicious and could put the puzzle pieces together no matter few there are.

He would have to be treated like a normal person in order to not trigger his memories.

Harry and Hermione both immediately voiced their objections.

Kingsley raised a hand to silence their disagreements.

“We plan to place him as a bookstore manager with disguised Aurors all over the place,” he said. “But we also intend to plant someone close to him act as a friend so we can monitor whether his memories are awakening.”

“That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard,” Harry snapped.

Hermione agreed. “So you’re saying you’ll let him loose in the country?!”

“I’m saying that this is our only choice!” Kingsley shouted. “We even tried to contain him in the most secure part of Azkaban yet he managed to escape once he realized who he was.” He took a deep breath. “This will give us time until we find out what spell or whatever it is that is making him like this. If we think of something better, then we will do it, but for now, this is what needs to be done.”

Harry snorted. “Voldemort, a bookstore manager?” He shook his head, thinking that all of this is ridiculous. “Well, he did work in retail after Hogwarts. It’s probably how he turned evil, too.”

The Dark Lord, going back to sales. Had Hermione had any humor left in her these days, then she would have laughed. Alas, the fact that Voldemort wasn’t gone yet was enough to drain all the humor out of her.

“Who’s going to be the ‘friend’?” Hermione asked. “It has to be someone we fully trust and who won’t be easily manipulated.”

Kingsley shifted in his seat, his discomfort obvious. “About that…” He cleared his throat.

Harry and Hermione waited for him to continue.

“We were thinking that it would be one of you two.”

Harry burst out laughing. “ _Me?_ Pretend to be friends with Voldemort?!” He wiped a tear in his eye. “I’d sooner die again than endure that. I’ll be one of the lookouts instead.”

Seeing that Harry wasn’t taking Kingsley seriously, he addressed Hermione instead. “What about you, Hermione?”

“I…” She bit her lip.

She didn’t want to step within a 50-meter radius around that murderer, still remembering the whispers of Slytherin’s locket to her: the insecurities and the fears that he relentlessly kept repeating to her, showing her.

“Why us?” she asked instead, she couldn’t just say yes to Kingsley without knowing all the details.

“It’s because you have resisted Voldemort before with Slytherin’s locket,” Kingsley elaborated. “I figured that since you’re familiar with his ways, then you won’t be manipulated easily.”

It was a sound argument.

Though that would be like befriending the locket, knowing that it liked picking at your wounds, making you second guess yourself.

Hermione sighed. She already knew what she was going to say. Besides, it was also an opportunity to observe Voldemort’s body, see what made it different from normal wizards and how it regenerated.

Still, the plan was stupid.

“I will do it on one condition,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, you can’t be-”

“I’m accepting, Harry.” She ran her fingers through her hair, not believing that she was going to do it, that she was going to have to act like she was Voldemort’s friend, the one who had created that blasted locket.

Harry grabbed her shoulder so she would look at him but she couldn’t meet his eyes. She knew that he was only looking out for her but the wizarding world needed this more than her comfort.

“Don’t.” Harry burned holes through her head but still, she ignored him.

“I’ll do it,” he suddenly said to Kingsley.

“What?!”

Kingsley eyed Harry carefully, evaluating.

“No. Hermione will do it.”

Harry slammed his fist on the table. “We will _not_ put Hermione in danger.”

She glared at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“But what? Harry, you’ve had Voldemort in your head for _years._ You need to take a break on this.” She took the fist on the table, cradling it. “Let me do this. I know Voldemort too, thanks to the locket, so I won’t play into his hands.”

“It will be dangerous,” he warned.

She shrugged, trying to act as if having to be near Voldemort, talking to him, pretending to be friends, didn’t scare the living daylights out of her.

“We’ve been in danger since we were eleven, since _you_ were born,” she said. “I can research him this way too.”

Harry watched her and saw through her bravado.

But this was Hermione. If she said that she could do it, then she _would_ do it.

“Okay,” he said. “But be careful, alright?”

She nodded. “I will.”

After that, Kingsley finalized the details. Voldemort would be a bookstore manager across from a restaurant where Aurors would disguise themselves as waiters or customers every day.

Hermione would be his friend and landlady. She would meet with him as frequently as possible to monitor his behavior.

“What’s your condition?” Kingsley asked her. Harry was on the side, massaging his temples, still not believing that they were going to do it.

“Just what I said earlier: access to Unspeakable research,” she said. But even if Kingsley wouldn’t be able to give her access, she would still do it. Nothing was more important than preventing Voldemort from massacring hundreds of wizards and witches after all. It had been a long three years and the war had just ended. No one wanted to go back to that.

Kingsley stood up, finished with explaining the mission to them. “Don’t worry. I’ll do what I can.”

Harry and Hermione both accompanied Kingsley to the fireplace, their expressions solemn.

“You will meet with Voldemort tomorrow afternoon.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

_So soon?_

“Okay,” she breathed out, heart pounding against her chest. “Okay,” she repeated, as if saying it twice would calm her down.

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder in support. “I’ll be there too, watching you and him.” He pressed her closer to him. “If he tries anything to you, he won’t be getting an easy _Expelliarmus._ ”

She gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Harry.”

Kingsley took some Floo powder and threw it into the hearth.

“I will owl both of you of what you need to do,” he said. “The list will be long. Especially for you, Hermione.”

Oh, of that, she had no doubt.

Once Kingsley left, Harry and Hermione returned to slumping back on the couch.

* * *

“Hello, Tom,” she greeted, stretching out a hand. “I’m Hermione, your friend and landlady.”

Hermione winced. That was too formal for a friend. Her outstretched hand fell to where his arm lay on the bed. She hesitated for a second before her skin finally made contact with his.

If he had noticed her hesitation, he did not say anything about it.

_Great. I’m barely five minutes in and I’m already failing at pretending_.

Though it helped that he didn’t look like the monster he had become, the beast with the red eyes and slits for nostrils.

He looked… human.

Underneath all that, however, was a different story.

“Do friends greet each other with handshakes?” he joked with a symmetric smile.

And Hermione found herself inspecting it. Was the smile real? Was he really joking? Or was he pretending too?

She laughed, it’s high and fake and Hermione wondered if she would succeed with what Kingsley needed her to do.

“Sorry, it’s just-” What was her excuse? “I don’t know how to greet my friend with amnesia.”

He quirked a brow. “With worry, perhaps?”

_Shit._

She wasn’t worried enough.

Her fingers twitched against his arm, fighting the urge to clench in nervousness. She said, “It’s the war, it- it drained all the emotions out of me.”

He chuckled, and he was better at acting than she was. He actually seemed delighted to meet her. Or was she just over analyzing things?

“I’m only teasing. I overheard the Healers talking about the war,” he said. “I heard about the great Golden Trio who defeated You-Know-Who.”

Did he realize that he was talking about himself?

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “We weren’t the only ones who defeated Voldemort. Everyone fought, including you.”

Tom sighed. “And now I lost my memories because of it.”

“It will come back. Don’t worry,” she comforted.

She hoped not.

“When will you be discharged from here?” Hermione asked though she already knew. He would leave the hospital the day after tomorrow and she would have to fetch him to accompany him to the bookstore.

“The day after tomorrow,” he said. “Though I’m not sure _where_ I’m supposed to go. No one but you has visited me so I know almost nothing about myself.”

“The war…” Hermione swallowed down the pain. “…took many of our friends and family.”

“I see.”

Silence.

Hermione drummed her fingers against her knee, wanting to escape anywhere, even the Malfoy Manor, as long as she wasn’t in the hospital room she was currently in.

“How’s your head?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It aches a bit, but nothing I can’t handle. I just hate that I lost my memories.”

Hermione offered him a sympathetic smile, not knowing what to say about that.

She patted his arm lightly, still unnerved that she was touching Voldemort in a supposedly friendly way.

She sat there beside him while he lay on the bed. An uncomfortable silence filled the room and Hermione could already hear the cogs turning in Tom’s head.

Why was she stiff around him if they were supposed to be friends? Why had no one visited him in the hospital?

She would have to do better.

She stood from her chair before leaning over him.

She brushed her lips on his cheek, just the lightest of brushes, she didn’t want to willingly touch him after all. Then she put her arms around his shoulders.

He stiffened at the contact, most likely hating it because he was Voldemort, but he returned her hug nonetheless.

“You’re going to be fine, Tom.”

She hoped not.

* * *

The next three weeks were spent visiting Tom in his bookstore or at his flat that was just upstairs. Kingsley hadn’t been able to give her access to the Unspeakables’ research yet so she had a lot of free time.

She helped him organize the books, discreetly checking if they had sensitive information, but they were mostly for school.

She usually brought homemade food that she had made, different each day so she could determine what his favorites were, just as a friend would know.

Tom hated vegetables, funnily enough.

She had brought food with vegetables this day (and last week) and he kept playing with them on his plate.

He had kept complaining earlier while he helped serve their lunch. Hermione had listened in amusement.

She now knew something about him besides that he disliked muggles and muggle-borns.

He glared at her. “I hate vegetables. You should know that.”

Oh, she knew alright.

“Which is why I brought it today,” Hermione said. “You’ll need that to grow stronger, you big baby,” she tentatively teased.

Did Voldemort take teasing well?

His glare deepened.

Hermione gulped, suddenly afraid for her life.

Apparently not.

She cleared her throat. “How’s your bookstore?” she asked instead.

There. Safe and neutral ground.

“You’re muggle-born, aren’t you?”

Hermione froze.

She slid her gaze from her food to his eyes, staring straight at him. She raised her chin. “Yes,” she answered, proud. “Why? Is your prejudice back with your amnesia?”

It would be prudent to make him think that he didn’t believe in blood prejudice anymore, Kingsley had said.

Tom’s eyes widened. “No! It’s just that- I wanted to ask, how was the war for you?”

Oh! So it was only that.

Hermione relaxed, her grip on her fork loosening. “It was hard, especially as Harry’s best friend.” She wasn’t sure how much she was ready to share with Voldemort. As her ‘friend’, of course he would want to know what happened to her.

It also meant getting information on the war that he shouldn’t revisit.

Hermione would have to be careful about that.

“We had to hide while Voldemort hunted us down,” she said, chewing on broccoli. He still hadn’t touched his food. “We had to find his Horcruxes,” she suddenly said, though she had not intended to share that.

Ah. Veritaserum.

So that was why he hadn’t eaten.

Bastard.

“Are you really my friend?”

“No.”

“Why are you watching me?”

She snapped her mouth shut but she couldn’t fight the potion. She said, “Because you’re dangerous.”

Good thing she had always had her wand on her arm holster for the past three years.

Her wand slipped into her hand before he even reached for his.

“ _Stupefy!_ ”

Tom slumped down on his chair.

_Bastard_.

She left her chair and moved over to him, resisting the urge to punch him. “You piece of shit,” she spat.

She should have known better.

At least now she knew how to be careful around him, and that she had to brush up on her acting skills more.

She pointed her wand to his temple and searched around his memories. She saw him offering to help her prepare the food, spiking it with Veritaserum while she hadn’t been looking.

Hermione changed the scene, and instead of him helping, she had refused his offer, telling him that patients need to be coddled.

She scoffed.

She also changed their conversation, transforming it into something safer, though she still sprinkled some information about the war. Tom’s goal must have been to find out about the war and why he was being watched.

She delved deeper into his mind.

And saw how uncomfortable she was around him despite saying that she was a friend, that no one but her was his visitor. He had noticed the same customers around the restaurant in front of the bookstore, how they were always watching him.

She would have to report this to Kingsley.

Tom was too observant for his own good.

After she had modified his memory, she waited for a few minutes until the Veritaserum was out of her system. Then she woke him up.

She shook his shoulder harshly, his head scraping back and forth against the edge of his seat, still angry that he had tricked her.

His eyes fluttered open and she breathed out a fake sigh of relief. “Tom! Are you okay? You just blacked out there!”

“Wha…?” he rubbed his temple, still not registering everything around him.

Hermione’s brows knitted together. “It looks like you’re still not well,” she said. “Should we go to the hospital?”

“No, no.” He pushed her hands away and groaned. “I’m fine. It must be that curse acting up again.”

“I’m going to hurt whoever did that to you,” she growled. She fretted over him, brushing his hair back and cooing over him, mostly because he disliked the physical contact.

“Not if I hurt them first,” he grits out. He finally relented from her fretting, letting her do whatever she wanted.

She patted his head. “You do that.”

Let him hurt himself. He deserved it.

Hermione didn’t touch her food anymore after he had woken up. They discussed Tom’s supposed life, how they had missed his 27th birthday, how Bill Weasley was, his other friend, and that he couldn’t come visit because he was still grieving, and how the war had damaged his bookstore.

“I guess it’s one of the few perks of having amnesia.” He pointed to his head, still not eating his vegetables. He must _really_ not like them, even when Hermione had removed his memory of the Veritaserum. “I can’t grieve over someone I can’t remember.”

Hermione doubted he could even feel something as close to grief.

Before Hermione left, she attacked Tom with a hug. She had to get used to touching him, to not cringing at every contact with him.

“Bye, Tom.” She kissed his cheek. “Take care.”

He returned her hug and kiss.

Later, once Hermione was in the comfort of Grimmauld Place, she scrubbed herself in the shower until her body was red and raw.

**Author's Note:**

> I _really_ wasn’t sure whether to post this or not. But then I finished one chapter so I said why the heck not. Still, though. Tell me what you think.


End file.
